


Verbal Blunder

by LachrymoseLake



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Comedy, F/F, Funny, Gen, Inanimate Objects, Inspired by Shrek (Movies), Knight!Yang, Maiden!Weiss, No Plot/Plotless, Ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 00:46:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17571083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LachrymoseLake/pseuds/LachrymoseLake
Summary: Yang fought the dragon, saved the princess and... is now left talking to a plant. What's more, she's at least 80% sure she isn't THAT mad.





	Verbal Blunder

 

The slap rang out on the top of the grassy hill. One of the horses looked up from where he was tied. The other didn't. Yang gingerly lifted a hand to touch her shocked face, the sting of the strike barely there.

 

That didn't mean it wasn't disorienting. 

 

There was an indignant huff and then Yang felt the flutter of fabric against her forearms, the breeze of the furious fair maiden's passing. She hastened to turn with her, arm lifted and hand reaching desperately for the retreating figure.

 

The weather-worn wood of the shack's shambled door slammed shut, the coarse grain of the planks grazing the tips of her fingers, grating at the calloused skin. The echo of the door dramatic closure rang off every tree and rock, starting a flock of birds from distance branches with a flurry of feathers and cacophony of ca-caws.

 

"My maiden, please, just come out. I didn't mean it in anything but jest, not even that." She tried to make amends, voice low and pleading.

 

"Why would I come out to be in the company of misogynistic pigs? How very enticing that idea is!" The maiden's smothered voice bit from behind the door, the pointed sneer clear in her voice.

 

"W-Well," Yang stuttered, "there's, there's only one of me. Singular, uh, singular pig." She said with an unseen shrug, single finger raised to illustrate her point.

 

The door was yanked open, hinges whining and latch shivering. At the look of outraged incredulity on the maiden's, the fair maiden Weiss Schnee’s, face, Yang took a wary step back. Her hand dropping to grip the empty loop of her belt for some semblance of comfort in the face of a more daunting fight than even the dragon she had fought to save the Weiss. Fear has no friend like a woman wronged.

 

"You-you, out of all of that, that was all you got? That, really?!" She spat, brows pulled low and voice dropping lower. Snowy white hair seemed to jaggedly frame her face as it got slowly grew flushed.

 

"I- I, I?" Yang tried and failed. Her voice broke with a high-pitched crack, a habit she should have long outgrown. The maiden twisted her face into a snarl, door swinging shut with a billow of dew-damp air that shifted a few lank strands of yellowed hair from Yang's face.

 

With a sigh, the weary knight turned from the maiden's blatant dismissal and wandered towards the first dip of the down turning trail. Yang let her legs collapse under her, dropping her weight to the slanted slope of the rambling hill on which the shack was perched. She let her tired eyes droop to the grassy ground, rolling fields bathed lilac and lemon in the morning light.

 

A daisy, one among many, a drop in the veritable sea of pale petals, seemed to stare at the side of her head. She knew, undeniable and without a doubt, that the daisy wasn't, in fact, staring at her, couldn't be. But she felt it, boring into the fine hairs at her temple.

 

"Stop looking at me." She finally muttered, back hunched with the young light's rays trickling through the tree branches, growing stronger with every minute's pass. She was talking to a daisy, a fact highlighted but the resounding lack of an answer.

 

The daisy's petals crinkled in the faintest, near unnoticeable, breeze: mocking her dilemma. Perhaps this plant, the one poets waxed so lyrically about, wasn't as aphonic as she first assumed. Maybe its language was more sophisticated than mere words could convey.

 

Alternatively, it was just a daisy caught in a draft.

 

"It's not my fault. She's being sensitive." Yang tried to convince the steadfastly silent daisy, eyes pleading as she propped her chin up with one hand.

 

The daisy didn't reply.

 

"I'm telling the truth! I can't help that I thought her skirts might get in the way of riding. That is perfectly reasonable. I _never_ said she should take them _off_ , that was her conclusion!" She lamented, hand flying towards the sky as she lent back on her elbows, dew soaking the fabric of her sleeves.

 

She looked up at the lightening sky, contemplating what skewed life choices had led her here. Here, sat outside a maiden's almost, but not quite, cabin in the damp of dawn, having angered the woman she was supposed to 'rescue' and stuck in the metaphorical dog house.

 

Her honour demand he apologises to the maiden, her pride demand she did not.

 

A spark, a remembered paragraph in a forgotten book, a fable from long ago, flickered to life at the back of her mind. A far-fetched way to conclude two conflicting desires.

 

She looked down at The Daisy, the single one in the sea the one intent on its ‘staring’.

 

"I am not doing this with you." The daisy continued to stare. "I'm not." Yang insisted faintly, mind distracted. The daisy's petals wavered, still seemed to frown at her, forcing its way into the forefront of her mind. The more she tried not to think about it, the more the idea developed.

Leave the choice to fate, perhaps? Maybe not as moronic as she had dismissed it to be.

 

With a glance over her shoulder at the steadfastly closed door, Yang squeezed her eyes shut, face turned skyward. She was honest to gods considering this. She dropped her head, chin to chest, and look at the daisy through the dark eyelashes.

 

"You brought this on yourself, you blasted daisy," Yang muttered bitterly as she reached out a hand, fingers squeezing around the base of the stem as she easily broke the thread-thin shred of resistance that had held the bloom to the ground.

 

Stem pinched between thumb and forefinger, Yang twirled it, white and yellow blurring, head dipping and rising on the drooping axis with every quick rotation. She stopped her twizzling, petaled face swaying to a gentle stop.

 

"Well, better late than never. And better never that early, I guess." She muttered as she poised her free fingers next to the daisy. The first petal practically fell off without prompt. "I'll apologise," The second petal was a little more stubborn, "I will not."

 

...It was going to be a long morning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I just have silly thoughts sometimes... 
> 
> Feel free to start a convo in the comments or critiques are welcome! Hating is less so... but a hater's gonna hate!
> 
> ...
> 
> And that was definitely me quoting Taylor Swift. What have I become...


End file.
